“The Earth Witches are making a great show of mourning my daughter’s death,” Lord Jezail remarked, indicating the intricate patterns wrought in the cornfield. “Have I miscounted, or does that make seven of them in all?”
“It does, milord,” Count Vassili bowed his head and looked suitably solemn as the eye of crystal travelled slowly over the field.
Lord Jezail scowled. “Is that all you have to say?” he snapped.
Vassili eyed his master in some surprise. “But, surely the witches have done more than is required, milord,” he pointed out after a moment’s hesitation. “The Queen of the Earth Witches is a relative, after all,” he pointed out diplomatically, “and it’s natural that she would want to honour Lady Merial’s memory.”
“Maritza! Honour her memory!” Lord Jezail almost spat, “when she was as mad as fire at not getting the talisman!”
“But she was her cousin,” Vassili pointed out, “and it’s understandable that she’d expect to inherit it …”
“If Merial wasn’t going to leave the talisman to the witches then she should have sent it straight back to me!” Jezail muttered angrily. “She’s made a mess of the whole affair!”
“Don’t I know it,” the count said feelingly, for keeping tabs on the witches was proving an absolute nightmare.”
Lord Jezail drew his cloak round him and flung himself back in his vast chair. “Well, we can’t give up now,” he said petulantly. “We must be ready to take it from the witches whenever they find it! They must never be allowed to keep it.”
Count Vassili listened with a sinking heart, knowing that he would probably moan on about it for the rest of the night. Finding the talisman would only be the start for Lord Jezail nursed many grudges, both real and imagined. Indeed, there were occasions when Vassili thought that his master was more than slightly mad. He’d once boasted about a hex he’d put on Prince Casimir and Prince Kalman when they’d visited Ashgar. Vassili shuddered at the thought. Indeed he’d been so disturbed by it that he’d almost decided to return to his father’s estate at Trollsberg. Then there had been the disastrous Firestar affair when the whole world of magic had been put at risk. Not for the first time, he wondered if the Lords of the North had ever suspected anything …
Lord Jezail looked at him suspiciously. “Very quiet all of a sudden, aren’t you,” he snapped.
“Milord …” Count Vassili’s heels clicked together as he bowed low, his blue eyes lifting to meet the hard, black stare of his master. Cold eyes, devoid of feeling; they were the shade of blue that one sometimes glimpses in the depths of ice: the eyes of a wolf.
Lord Jezail held his gaze and calmed himself. Vassili was generally so agreeable that he tended to forget that he was of the Onegin, the wolf people, who lived in the very north of Ashgar near the Russian border. Vassili came from quite a distinguished family of magicians and although his parents had sent him to Stara Zargana as an apprentice, his magic had, somehow, never seemed to amount to much …
This seeming lack of talent was actually deliberate on Vassili’s part as he had been quick to realize that Lord Jezail disliked competition of any sort. And it suited him to stay and browse through the vast library of magic books that, until his arrival, had lain untouched for centuries in the library of the citadel.
His master tapped the arm of his chair with restless fingers, his mind still on the talisman. “Merial must have hidden it well,” he muttered discontentedly. “I really thought the witches would have found it by now.”
Vassili sighed, for although his master spent the odd ten minutes studying the crystal, the tedious job of monitoring the witches had fallen mostly to him and he was heartily sick of it. “The trouble is, milord, that the witches aren’t really all that bright,” he pointed out. “They’re looking in the most ridiculous places. The Wind Witches are searching the trees and bushes, the Earth Witches the rabbit holes and the Snow Witches are having to merge with birds and animals to do their work! Quite frankly, if they go on at this rate, it’ll take them years to find it.”
“Years?” Jezail looked startled.
Vassili smiled ruefully. “Well, maybe not years,” he admitted, “but the truth is, milord, that at the moment they’re just wasting their time!”
Lord Jezail sat back in his huge, carved chair pondering Vassili’s words and, eyeing his aide speculatively, looked suddenly thoughtful. It was a look that Vassili knew well and his expression became wary.
Lord Jezail’s eyes gleamed. “All this is taking too long,” he said, gesturing towards the crystal. “I’m too old to search for it myself and I’ve no intention of waiting for years until the witches find it. There’s only one thing for it, Vassili! You will have to go and look for me!”
Vassili bowed and tried not to look surprised. The relief was enormous. To go to Scotland on his own! It was by no means the nightmare scenario he’d envisaged. Nevertheless, it was polite to protest and his voice was concerned as urged his master to accompany him.
“The change would do you good, milord,” he pointed out, “and you could always stay with the MacArthurs or the Lords of the North?” He said this, knowing perfectly well that while his master might agree to staying with the MacArthurs, he would never go anywhere near Morven.
Lord Jezail looked at him arrogantly. “I’ve no wish to stay with either the Lords of the North or the MacArthurs,” he said sharply. “You will go on your own and bring me back the talisman.”
“It won’t be easy, milord,” Vassili protested somewhat anxiously. “After all, the witches have had no luck so far and quite frankly, I might not do much better. Er … don’t you have any idea where your daughter might have hidden it?” he enquired.
“None whatsoever,” his master said unhelpfully, “and from the way the witches are setting about it, it would seem that they haven’t a clue either,” he muttered, turning once more to the crystal ball. “The only sensible thing they did was search Merial’s house from top to bottom. Maritza, though,” Lord Jezail continued, “might be on to something. I told you, didn’t I? She’s taken a job at Netherfield, the school Merial used to work in. It’s an old building so there must be plenty of hiding places.”
“That’s a possibility,” Vassili nodded, looking suddenly interested. “How big is the school?”
“See for yourself … There it is.” Jezail tilted the eye of the crystal to reveal a sprawling, turreted building that stood in its own grounds amid trees and playing fields.
“Maritza might well be on to something there,” Vassili admitted, looking suddenly hopeful. “Could you arrange for them to need a … a German teacher, perhaps?”
Lord Jezail looked at him sourly. “If that’s what you want …”
Count Vassili nodded. “It would be ideal, for as a member of staff I’d have access to all parts of the school. And let’s just say that I have a feeling that Maritza might know something that the others don’t,” he added shrewdly. “Your daughter was, after all, her cousin.”